A Week in Review
by Indigo-Night-Wisp
Summary: After his return in season 4, they developed a routine.
1. Monday

**Date: January 12, 2011**

**Disclaimer: I'm not the owner of these characters, this show, or probably anything you recognize. Unless you've read my other stuff, and that's why you recognize it.**

**Timeline: Post-Harsh Light of Day, Season 4. Buffy took the gem, but instead of following it to LA and Angel, Spike stayed in Sunnydale. **

**A/N: I'd like to thank everyone who has made my first foray into a new fandom so great, and my friends who followed me over from Evo. I present my first chapter story, short as it may be.**

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><p>On Mondays, they meet in cemeteries, and they attempt to kill each other. It's a real, true, all-out fight to the death. No halfway lunges, or almost hits. He always goes for her throat, and her stake is always aimed at his heart.<p>

But neither ever wins.

Maybe it's because they are too perfectly matched, and every blow she lands on him is balanced by one he manages to execute. Maybe it's because they both want to savor the kill, and every time either gets close, they hesitate, just a second, giving the other time to regain their feet. Maybe it's the distractions that sometimes come up, the girl she has to save; the demon he has to decapitate. Or,maybe some higher power is preventing them from ending the refrain, because maybe, just maybe, they're meant to have each matched, perfect and female, light and dark, sun and moon.

Nobody else knows. If they did, they'd be concerned. A vampire she couldn't kill? After weeks of fighting him? Surely a sign of the Apocalypse! They would research, and arm themselves, and go out in force with her on patrol, and then there would be no way he could escape, and that is just unacceptable. If he dies, it will be at her hand, and no one else's.

Of course, when they found out who the vampire was, there would be an entirely different sort of hell to pay. How long has he been back, why didn't you tell us, how many people has he killed? Questions, questions. And she doesn't want to answer. So she doesn't tell.

The other demons know of course. It's hard to hide a fight like theirs when they really get going. Sometime they attract a crowd. Unfortunately, they then have to… _disperse _said crowd, which interrupts the flow of the battle. Usually by that time, they both silently agree to go home and pick it up next week.

But the real reason the demons know is because he threatens them with death, destruction, and every horror imaginable under the moon if they touch her. She's his. Doesn't stop most of them, but hey, he makes good on those threats and they back off for a while. She complains some when they fight, about the lack of activity she gets, but he just chuckles and tells her to be glad she has all that extra energy for fighting him. And then she grins and throws herself at him again.

Watching them fight, it's hard to tell that they're actually trying to end it. Neither seems to want the end, and though they wouldn't dream of shorting themselves the killing blow, both seem to take a sort of strange comfort from the knowledge that neither will die tonight. They know they are too well matched for one to win, and when one does, the other will be right there with them, fangs in throat, stake through heart. And they'll die in each other's arms.

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><p><strong>AN: This is a series of connected one-shots that will eventually be proven to have a sort of plot. The timeline will be posted at the beginning of each chapter.**

**I know this sounds morbid, but really, it's just Buffy and Spike and their 'normal' confusion. And take heart, it's only Monday**. ;)


	2. Tuesday

**Date: January 12, 2011**

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

**Timeline: Set Post-Pangs, and implies that Spike was tied up in Giles' apartment for at least three weeks before Willow's Will-be-Done spell. Unrealistic?Tough.**

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and added to author/story alerts. You people are so cool.**

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><p>Tuesdays, they sit together, mainly because Giles begs her to come over so that he can have "grown-up time." Sometimes, they'll talk a little, usually they'll watch TV, or read, or sigh loud, annoying sighs. (Well, he does.)<p>

She feeds him, pig's blood in a novelty mug, her face carefully blank when he winces at the pull on the ropes. He doesn't say anything (because he's stubborn, and proud, and determined not to let her win anything), so his wrists turn red, then white, then blue, and then black. And (because she can match him for stubbornness like no one else), she doesn't loosen the ropes they both know are unnecessary.

She'll never tell him, but she hates seeing him like this. She hates that he had to come begging to her for help, because it's not like anyone else would lift a finger. She misses the fights, the rush, the _pleasure _that always came from a good brawl with him. And she can tell, from the way he looks longingly at her when she come in from patrol in her sweaty, messy-haired glory and sees Giles' off, he misses it too.

And of course she'll never tell him the secret that nobody else knows, the one that she sometimes has to physically catch with her hands over her mouth when she arrives to watch him. And that is that she sometimes _likes _this time she has with him. This time when, by mutual understanding, they aren't friends, they aren't enemies, and they aren't uncomfortable (well, not with each other's presence at least). And she won't admit it, but baby-sitting the vampire isn't as bad as she makes it out to be when she grumbles to Willow about losing Bronze time.

He tells her to change the channel, she refuses, and they bicker. He threatens her, she throws his incapability of carrying out said threats in his face and immediately feels awful when said face falls. He knows she's right, and he can't even hate her for it; she isn't responsible, and while he's never had a problem with shooting the messenger, he senses that if she could have her way, it would probably line up with his (though most likely with less maiming of innocent people).

It's her idea to put him in the bathtub. He scowls, and even looks a little hurt when she suggests it to Giles, but she won't tell him it's because she can't stand the sight of his rope-raw wrists any longer, and hopefully the chains won't cut as badly. He says it's demeaning, she silently agrees, but tells him to shut it. And, good intentions and/or sympathy aside, she really can't help but laugh when at last he's chained satisfactorily, his duster pushed behind him to provide a sort of padding for his shoulders, and his hair completely disheveled. The wounded puppy look he gives her actually stops her laughter in a hurry, but within seconds, a mask is in place and he's muttering insults that don't make any sense to her but are probably very bad in British-land.

It's easier to be around him now, when his wrists are a normal color, and he's regained his attitude. She can insult him freely, knowing he'll give it right back. She still feeds him, but now she makes faces as he sucks the blood through a straw. And when he won't shut up, that just makes it that much easier on her conscience to tease him, to yell at him, to smack him upside the head with just a little less force than usual.

Still, she wishes Willow would hurry up with the truth spell so they can get him out of those ridiculous chains.

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><p><strong>AN: Buffy's not OOC people. Truly, she's got a good heart, and I believe that seeing Spike like that, even though he's her mortal enemy, would tug a heartstring. Of course, the minute he's back to his normal, snarky self, she goes right back to their comfortable pattern of threats and arguments. Why spare sympathy where there's none needed?**


	3. Wednesday

**Date: January 12, 2011**

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

**Timeline: Post- Doomed, Season 4. (Or whenever Spike finds out he can hit demons.) Also, Riley is not around. And Buffy is living at home for right now.**

**A/N: Thank you, you lovely review-y people!**

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><p>Wednesdays, they argue. This, in and of itself isn't strange, they rarely have a conversation without arguing, but on Wednesday, it's always worse.<p>

They argue when he shows up to help her on patrol. They argue while they're killing demons, and really, it's a tribute to both of them that they're able to concentrate so totally on the subject while flipping through the air chopping heads off. They argue on the way back to her house, and she suspects that he walks her home simply for the sake of arguing with her all the way to the front door. They argue when her mother invites him in for hot chocolate. (Joyce shakes her head fondly and retreats to the kitchen.)

Giles' shakes his head when he hears them coming up to his door, wondering (for the thousandth time) why she brings him to Scooby meetings. Willow opens her mouth once or twice, but thinks better of it, remembering a certain spell. Xander and Anya block it out with difficulty.

All the way through the Scooby meeting. He just can't keep his mouth shut, she can't resist needling him, and neither will back down from a challenge the other throws out, no matter how ridiculous they sound or look.

The first time she ends an argument by punching him, he gasps and yelps. She punches him again and smiles grimly as his hands fly to his broken nose. Ha. She won.

When he refuses to look at her the next few days, she grows frustrated. He won't look at her, won't talk to her, and he moves to the other side of the room when she comes near him. When she finally corners him in Giles' bathroom and demands to know what his problem is, the look on his face has her flashing back to chains in a bathtub, and bruised wrists that seem too thin for the shackles.

He tells her that he understands that she doesn't like him (that's perfectly fine, he doesn't really care much for her either), but he thought that she had a little more respect for him than to settle their dispute by attacking him in a way he couldn't retaliate. Shocked, and a little ashamed, she can only stare at him open-mouthed for a minute. When he turns away, she grabs his shoulder without thinking and yanks him back around to face her. Bringing her hands up, she takes his face between them, gentling her hold when he stiffens, and ducking her head to meet his eyes.

This accomplished, she carefully, _tentatively_ takes a deep breath and apologizes, her voice soft in true contrition. His eyes widen a little when he sees she means it, then the hard stone in his eyes softens and he nods.

Abruptly, she realizes where her hands are and releases his face. He notices her discomfort and (of course) _has _to call her on it.

When the others hear her outraged shriek and his answering laugh, they breathe sighs of relief, because the tension between the two was getting a little hard to bear. (Anya had some helpful suggestions for working out their tension, but they were rejected by everyone she shared them with.)

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><p><strong>AN: ****D****idn't I say they would all tie in together? Buffy's feelings for him are changing, little by little, and of course, we all know where his are headed. ;)**

**I believe that Buffy would want to kill Spike in a fair fight, and only then. He's her equal, in my opinion, and they both know it. I think she respects him as an opponent at least, if not as a "person." Yet.**


	4. Thursday

**Date: January 16, 2011**

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

**Timeline: Post- Doomed, Season 4. (Or whenever Spike finds out he can hit demons.) Also, Riley is not around.**

**A/N: TMFALR: Thank you so very much.**

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><p>Thursdays they dance.<p>

Of course, if you were to ask him, he'd say that all they ever did was dance. And while that may be true metaphorically, on Thursdays, it's literal.

She goes to the Bronze with her friends a lot. He's usually there. And usually, they ignore each other.

But once a week, Willow gets cracking on the books, and Xander and Anya stay in.

And then she goes alone to the Bronze, and she waits until she feels his presence. And then she starts to move.

Around the room, she paces herself. He lets her come to him, lets this be her dance, her control.

She hones in on his location quickly, making her way through the crowd, ignoring offers to buy her a drink or dance and pausing in front of the shadowy corner he's placed himself in.

She holds out her hand, waiting. He inhales and exhales slowly, then flicks away his cigarette. He takes her hand and lets her lead him to the floor.

The beat is light and strong. His left hand settles naturally at her hip, and she reaches eagerly for the back of his neck and the soft curls he tries to hide. Digging her fingers into his hair is almost better than the dance itself. She tugs a little because it makes him smile, knowing that she likes his hair.

And then they start to dance.

It's back and forth, give and take, spin and dip, twirl and hold. He catches her to him gently, then spins her away so fast she sees stars. She grins at him, and he smirks back, steadying her body with his own.

And then the song changes, and it's slow and deep. Their eyes meet in silent agreement, one last dance before they leave. They turn. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he buries his face in her hair.

To everyone around them, they are just another couple, obviously enjoying each other's presence and the dance. They have no idea that the two blondes are mortal enemies who also enjoy attempting to kill each other, arguing, and watching reality shows.

Tonight, she likes him. Really likes, possibly more. And she knows he likes her. Knows it like she knows tomorrow is Friday and like she knows he would taste like cigarettes and Jack D if she kissed him now. Of course she won't, but that doesn't change the fact that she knows.

His arms tighten around her waist and her hand in his hair gently massages the back of his head. The song is ending, and though neither wants to let go of the other, they pull back.

Standing in each other's arms, they watch each other. Finally, he takes an unnecessary breath and steps back. She tries not to whimper at the loss of his embrace. Shooting her a smile that leaves her breathless, he turns around and stalks away, a black shadow slipping through the crowd.

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><p><strong>AN: Well. That was intense.**

**And kinda deeper than I'd planned. But then, this whole story line has gotten way out of control. I'm not really sure who's writing it anymore, me or the characters.**


	5. Friday

**Date: January 23, 2011**

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

**Timeline: Post- Doomed, Season 4. (Or whenever Spike finds out he can hit demons.) Also, Riley is not around.**

**A/N: Some people are just so cool. Like really. Guess who I'm talking about. ;)**

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><p>Fridays he takes her to Willie's.<p>

The other demons growl, and mumble, and make faces. They ignore it all and walk straight to the bar. She goes to grab Willie's shirt, but he catches her wrist with a sigh, asking her if she always has to do everything the painful way.

She gives him a resentful look, but recognizes that they are in his territory now, and gives him the lead.

He sits down at the bar, not too gently pulling her onto a stool as well- she gives him a dirty look for that, which he ignores. Smiling at Willie in a way that really couldn't be considered very friendly, he orders a couple of drinks and some information.

Willie doesn't want to cooperate, but with both of them right there, and the Slayer getting antsy, he doesn't really have a choice.

They turn to leave, only to find themselves face to face with a small mob of angry, somewhat drunk demons.

The vampire nearest to them demands to know what they think they're doing. She blinks at him, then asks her companion if the stupidity is a vamp thing, or was it just this one? He chuckles.

The demon scowls, then turns his "wits" to the black-leather clad vampire beside her, mocking him and his "disability" and labeling him as "the Slayer's pet."

And then he turns to dust as said Slayer's temper gets the better of her.

(Later, he'll ask her what tipped the scale, and she'll mumble something about "stupid demon… running his mouth… NOT a pet…" and he'll decide not to inquire further.)

Chaos breaks out soon enough, and before they know, it, the two blondes are back to back, and fighting fist and fang in the middle of a huge crowd of demons. They spin, and then they're twisting apart and back, a dance they've perfected over the past few weeks.

Sarcastically, he calls over the noise of the crowd, asks her what the folks will say, if he brings her home all cut up and bruised from a bar fight. In a conversational tone, she replies that she supposes he'll just have to wait to bring her home then.

That makes him falter a little, which leads to her tackling him out of the path of a decapitating blow and scolding him in a way that would have been humorous were it not for the blood on his forehead.

They make it out, a tactical retreat, and hurry down back alleyways to the sewer entrance. She frowns down at him, reluctant to dirty her new shoes. Sighing, but secretly reveling in the adorable pout of her lips, he holds up his arms and tells her to jump.

Gingerly, she drops down into leather and stone. He cradles her against his chest, turns swiftly and begins the trek through the tunnel to his crypt.

She grumbles, he grumbles back, and they engage in playful grumbling until they arrive at the stone trapdoor leading to his lower bedroom above.

He tosses her up and she offers him a hand as well.

Standing in the middle of his room, the place where he sleeps, she feels as though she's invading someplace sacred- which is ridiculous because it's him, and he's the very opposite of sacred. He doesn't seem to mind, as he rags her a little about staring at his bed. She flushes and tells him to get over himself. He sneers and shoots back that he will when she does.

It's their oldest tune, the banter, the wit. Even before the first blow was ever struck, they'd been dancing, their words poking, prodding, swiping, and, even at the earliest, provoking. He was her partner, and together, they played.

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><p><strong>AN: I like this one. It's not my favorite, I think, but I really do like it.**


	6. Saturday

**Date: February 2, 2011**

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

**Timeline: Post- Doomed, Season 4. (Or whenever Spike finds out he can hit demons.) Also, Riley is not around.**

**A/N: All you awesome reviewer people, my most sincere thanks.**

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><p>Saturdays they walk. They walk all over Sunnydale, wherever the mood takes them. Sometimes, she lets him pick, and they stroll through the alleys and dark passages. And sometimes it's her choice, and she leads him around her college campus, and down her own street.<p>

Neither would define these… _outings_ as "dates." They are strictly _not_ dating, as they tell anybody who happens to see them walking together and chooses to comment.

She really thought that the jibe from that one oaf was unnecessary though. Just because she's not exactly _dating _the guy beside her doesn't mean she's "on the market" as the college boy so eloquently put it. And apparently the offer of his oh-so-desirable-self triggered some less-than-benign thoughts from her vampire, as he cried out in pain the next second, clutching his head.( Odd, how her first thought was sympathy for him instead of relief that he couldn't kill the co-ed.)

She introduces him to coffee tonight, sure that such an innocent thing can't possibly get them into any awkward situations. It's the non-relationship drink of choice after all, and they're doing their- well, not their _best _per se, but still- to be as non-relationshippy as possible.

The situation gets very awkward when a passing waiter on the night shift as the Espresso Pump runs right into her and her coffee goes flying right into him. His shirt is soaked, and all she can do is stare at him, unsure whether to laugh, or to cry because apparently they can't even make it through one non-date without _something _going wrong.

(She pointedly ignores the way his wet shirt clings to his chest because if thoughts are going _there_, then thoughts are going bad, and need to stop being thought before more badness happens.)

He stares back at her, blue eyes wide and apparently uncertain of proper protocol in such a situation- and that in and of itself gives her the wiggin's, as she's never seen him at a loss for words. His face seems to be pleading with her not to end the evening, even though his shirt is wet, and probably sticky now.

She makes a choice then, and lets out a tiny giggle.

Instantly, she sees the change, the relief, and-was it really there, or did she only imagine…?- the something else that has been flickering in his eyes for weeks.

The waiter is apologizing, and fluttering around, waving his hands, and the two blondes are standing there, completely ignoring him, and silently communicating everything they want, need, feel, and are.

The boy stops yelping to take a breath and the spell is broken. The Slayer and the vampire turn away from each other sharply, neither quite prepared to accept what they see in the other's eyes.

She stammers that it's late, and she needs to get home. He nods, because that's what he does. And then she throws him for a loop when she reaches out to grasp his arm and asks shyly if he will walk her home? He swallows and nods.

He stands with her on her front porch and looks down into her upturned face. She's looking at him, and he's desperately wondering if she's feeling the same things he is, or if, as usual, he is doomed to ache alone. And he wonders, if he kisses her now, if she'll kiss him back, and if she does, will it be pity, reaction, or something else? If he kisses her, will it make their carefully planned outing into a date?

It's taking him a long time to move, or to say anything, and she turns rather disappointedly to go inside. She wishes she were brave enough to make the first move, but tonight, she's feeling fragile, and initiating kissage with her one-time mortal enemy might lead to badness of the uncontrollable kind. So she turns away, slowly reaches for the doorknob, and is just pushing the door open when his hand touches her arm.

And then he's kissing her, really kissing her, just like he did under Willow's spell, but oh, so much better because this is _real_. His hands are on her waist, and his lips are fitted perfectly with hers, and she swears by the stars above that his mouth was made for her, and that it has been entirely too long a wait for it to come into her reach.

He pulls away first, somehow remembering that she actually does need to breathe, and rests his forehead against hers gently. She gasps, and he does to, despite himself, both sucking in huge gulps of air. Her green eyes meet his fearlessly, something unidentifiable floating in their depths. His own are tender, and disbelieving, and desiring, and awestruck, all at the same time, and watching them is like watching an entire love story playing out before her.

He watches her silently, unmoving, his arms still wrapped around her waist, his head pressing against hers. He made the first move, and now she held all the cards. She could make or break him with one word, one wrong move.

She knows this, and so, because the moon is bright, and the night has been sweet, and the taste of his kiss is still tingling on her lips, she throws everything she ever learned about kissing vampires out the proverbial window and throws herself back into that made-for-her-to-kiss mouth with all she has.

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><p><strong>AN: Yes, here it is at last. Spuffy kissage. Took awhile huh?**

**Only one more chapter to go! **


	7. Sunday

**Date: February 13, 2011**

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

**Timeline: Post- Doomed, Season 4. (Or whenever Spike finds out he can hit demons.) Also, Riley is not around.**

**A/N: Reviewers… You are all incredible, and awesome, and I don't know how to thank you for your kind words and encouragement, but I do, I thank you.**

**This chapter is dedicated to ilovebookshowboutyou, who followed me over from the Evo fandom and has stuck with me through the end. Thanks hon.**

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><p>Sundays, she drags him to church with her, and he sits beside her in the pew dressed all in black-though without the coat-and looking so adorably uncomfortable that not even the grandmother sitting on his other side can find it in her to be afraid of him.<p>

He shies away when the preacher asks them all to join hands, but she grabs his left and looks pointedly at his right, where the grandma waits, hand outstretched. He takes it.

He wriggles slightly as they sit again, and the preacher begins the service. She lightly smacks his knee, and he instantly stops moving. Frowning at him a little, concerned that she was too harsh, she reaches out and wraps her hand around his arm. Her touch soothes him, and he even manages to pay attention. Some.

Communion is an adventure. The plate has a cross on the bottom, and when he passes it, he stiffens, swallowing the yelp of pain and handing it over as soon as possible. She gasps quietly, and grabs for his injured hand, careful not to actually touch the area itself. The burn is mild, but she fusses over it anyway, apologizing with her eyes, and brushing a gentle kiss over his palm. The grandma eyes them both, but says nothing.

When they stand to sing, she is mildly surprised that he knows most of the words, but he smirks a little at her and that reminds her that he probably lived during the same time as most if not all of the composers anyway. As if he guesses what conclusion she's come to, he winks, and goes back to singing- without a hymnal.

She has to pinch him twice during the closing prayer. He isn't used to sitting still so long, and the near silence is starting to wig him as well. He glances at her apologetically each time she digs into his side or arm, and she rubs the minor pain away gently, telling herself that it's not like she never fidgets in church, and he deserves a break.

After the service is a pot-luck dinner. The grandma turns a gleaming gaze on them and asks sweetly if they'd like to stay, and when they look around for Joyce, she's already placing a pan of… something on a table, so they say yes and hurry over.

The trouble starts when Grandma asks him if the meat is too well done for his "special diet." He looks at her sharply and mumbles something negative.

The next question is directed at her, and she responds to the inquiry of whether she is single or not with a little bit of sputtering, some uncertain glances aimed at a smirking bleach-blonde beside her, and finally, a small smile and a linking of their hands under the table as she says no, she's actually not.

Grandma looks disappointed, but not deterred as she now asks him if he would like her to close the curtains. Was the sun too much for him?

The blonde couple shoot each other looks that clearly say "We have _got_ to get out of here, _now_!" Frantically searching the room for Joyce, they give the granny their apologies, but hurry over to the Slayer's mother, explaining that they _really _have to get out of there fast, especially if they don't want a mob after them, led by a little old lady intent on staking them both.

Joyce agrees that it would be best for them to have Sunday dinner at home, and they leave.

Well, they attempt to leave, only to have to fight their way past several little old ladies armed with handbags, who surprisingly, don't have any problem with him other than that they believe he is too old for her. Neither of them laugh.

By the time they get rid of "the old birds," as he put it, there is enough cloud coverage for him to get to the sewer entrance without bursting into flame. He promises that he'll be right over, she gives him a stern look, and he gives her an innocent look right back. Joyce just looks at them both with a thoroughly amused expression on her face.

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><p><strong>AN: That's all folks. No more. The end. How sad, ja?**

**I just thought the idea of Spike having to endure the scary old potluck ladies was too funny to pass up. And there was some sweet Spuffy too.**

**I'm so thankful that people read, reviewed, and favorite/alerted. The encouragement is amazing. **

**I'll see ya'll in the archives.**


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